Failure (Worst Memories Part 1)
by infiniteworld8
Summary: Chekov, Spock, Dr.McCoy. Each has lost people they love and each blames themselves.A visit to Uhura's family reminds Spock of his mother A report written by his ex-wife reminds McCoy of the family he once had. Nightmares of the night Chekov lost almost everyone he loved plague him. A series of one shots with each character's 'Worst Memory'.
1. Spock

**This is my first fanfic. I've had this story posted for about two weeks so far and I haven't recieved much in the way of reviews. I'm not looking for anything long or elaborate, I'd just like a little feedback on how you think my writing is so far. Criticism and praise are both welcome, I'd would just like honest feedback.**

**Spock **

Spock sat rigidly, in the chair. His face as impassive as ever, inside he was in turmoil. The woman across from him said something; he looked at her face which looked so much like that of the woman he….loved. He watched as her lips moved but didn't register what she was saying. He was sitting in the living room of Uhura's parent's house, they had invited them over to meet him, today was Uhura's mother's birthday. The whole family had been happy to meet him. They were less reserved than Uhura, but just as passionate and friendly as her. He wondered how his mother would have reacted to Uhura. He knew that she would have been happy that he had finally found someone. But it wasn't the same, as hearing the words she would have said, or the comments that she would have said just to tease him. _Why had he never quite got around to telling her?_

"Spock?..Spock." Uhura's voice snapped him back to reality; her face concerned searching his for the hint of emotion that only she knew him well enough to detect. A small frown creased her features as she looked at him. _Had his thoughts been that visible? _"Mother was asking about your duties on the enterprise?" Uhura said looking at him uncertainly. Spock cleared his face so that it was once again an impassive mask and rejoined the conversation. But later that night after they were back on the ship, she looked at him and said "something's been bothering you all night Spock" her face was worried, her eyes searching his. "Was it my family? I know they like to hug a lot and get pretty close"

"While their close proximity was uncomfortable at times, your family was not bothering me" He said answering part of her question.

Uhura sensed by his tone of voice that he didn't want to talk to her about whatever it was and fell silent, her hand reaching out to lightly brush across his. Through the touch he felt, her worry. He resisted telling her about what was bothering him. She would want to talk about it and that was the most painful thing that he could do.

They reached her cabin and she gave him a light kiss, her lips brushing gently across his, with a murmured "I love you" before she keyed her door open and walked in ,the door sliding shut behind her. Spock stood there for a moment, staring at her door, thinking about Uhura. She deserved better than him, he had never fully reciprocated her affection, her passion. He couldn't break out of the mold that had been created when he had sought to fully become Vulcan. He had strived to eliminate all emotion to be impassive, logical, but even that was a farce. He felt emotion all the more keenly for trying to suppress it. He remembered the day on the bridge after Vulcan had been destroyed and Kirk had come onto the bridge to try to take command. The insults that Kirk had said had hurt, not just because his mother had died but because they were in some part true, he had never said all that had needed to be said to his mother, of all the times she had said that she loved him had he ever said the same to her? He was part human and part Vulcan, half of each but whole of neither, and both sides were tearing each other apart. His father had told him to choose. _Made_ him choose. He had chosen Vulcan. He had chosen Logic. But how could a person deny one half of what they were and still be whole? _Where was the logic in that?_ The sounds of footsteps approaching from around a corner of the corridor broke Spock out of his reverie. He and Uhura were already a prime subject in the ship's rumor mill, and he was keenly aware of how it would appear for him to be standing outside Uhura's door.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXx

To Spock

From: Amanda (mother)

I know that I could send you an e-letter faster but, something in me wants you to hold this paper in your hand, to feel the paper and see the words as I have written them. Perhaps, that's my illogical human quirks showing through. Anyway, lately for some reason I've been thinking about what would happen when I'm gone. Would you and your father ever forgive each other, even if you were all the family that each other had left? I just don't know the answer to this question. Your father is too proud to admit that he was wrong, to declare you Vrekasht, outcast. I hope one day you will be able to forgive him. Not for me, for yourself. Every day I think about you, miss you, and hope you are okay. I haven't seen you in a long time, but I hope that one day you can forgive, I love you both and the rift that separates you two kills me.

Spock looked at the letter he held in his hand and his eyes skimmed unseeing over the rest of the letter. When he had left Vulcan after turning down the Vulcan science academy and went to Star Fleet academy, his father had declared him an outcast and refused to talk to him or see him. Spock had obligingly never returned to Vulcan, he hadn't seen his mother in several years, the last time on Vulcan before the planet was ripped apart had been the first time in many years that he had seen her…and the last time. He had already read the letter, 4 times each time his eyes lingered on that sentence_. When I'm gone. _

His mind wandered back. _He couldn't believe it Vulcan was being destroyed. He heard himself ask how long the planet had. Ensign Chekov's reply of minutes barely registered. His mother was down on that planet. He cast through his memories, searching for where would she be. The answer came to him: with his father, who would if he had an idea of what was happening be helping the elders to preserve Vulcan's Cultural Heritage. He brushed past crewmembers standing there, barely remembering to pass on the Conn. He ignored crewmembers comments that he was the captain and shouldn't put himself in danger. It didn't matter, he didn't trust anybody but himself to find her and evacuate her in time. He beamed down and quickly located her standing near his father and the Vulcan elders. They raced through the passage, debris falling behind around them, others being crushed behind them. Still he hurried on. They reached the outside, they could be beamed away , he felt the familiar tingly sensation, as the transporter took effect. They were safe. No sooner had he thought that thought then his mother turned to look at him and strange look crossed her face then the rock she was standing on crumbled, sending her falling. He stretched his arm out, to reach her, to save her .Then, It was dark for a moment, and he had reformed on the transporter pad his arm still outstretched, the word mother still on his lips, Chekov's distressed face looking up from the transporter console as he said" I lost her"._

Spock set the letter down, it had only arrived just now, and the letter was dated a few days before the Narada incident. It was the last letter she had ever sent, it had only just arrived today. She had always liked to send letters to him on paper even though it took considerably longer, she said the delay didn't matter she had plenty of time". _She hadn't known how little she had left._

Spock ruthlessly pushed down the emotions that the letter had caused, he was Vulcan, he wouldn't let emotions control him he would control them. He glanced at the clock on the wall, it was nearly time for his bridge shift, he got dressed and prepared to leave his cabin as he walked toward the door, his Data Padd beeped announcing a new message. He walked over and accessed his mail; it was a message was from his father, he wanted to discuss something with him. Spock deleted the message without reading it. His mind outwardly already forming a logical reason for his action, inwardly he reveled in this action, he reveled in the illogic of it. He had no desire to talk to his father now or ever. His fury grew as he remembered all the time he had missed with his mother all the joy he could have brought her, that had been ruined by his father's actions.

_By making Spock chose to be Vulcan or Human._

_By making Spock chose one of them over the other. _

Spock fingers tightened unconsciously on the Data Padd crushing, it , the Padd made a noise then blanked out, pieces of plastic and metal falling to the ground. The door buzzer sounded, he glanced up the computer screen identified the person as Uhura, Spock glanced down at the crumpled mass in his hand and walked to the disposal chute sliding the ruined Data Padd in. Then he cleared his face, allowing his impassive mask to slip into place, and said "come in" his chaotic memories and emotions still roiling around inside him. Outwardly, he was calm...

emotionless...

Inwardly he was furious.


	2. Dr McCoy

**Dr. McCoy**

Dr. McCoy walked up the path towards his house, "damn it" He said, tripping over a toy that Joanna had left lying in the path. He leaned down and picked up the doll and tucked it under one arm, then carefully made his way to the house steps. He punched his code into the door and it opened. Jocelyn would be surprised, usually he was at the hospital late into the night, tonight though he would remedy that, they could have a relaxing dinner together as a family and then after Joanna was In bed, they would spend some time together, just the two of them. Lately Jocelyn had been acting distant, cold, she complained all the time about the time he spent away from the family, and anything was an excuse for an argument. She complained constantly about his late nights at the hospital, how he had no time for her and Joanna.

Today he would change.

He wanted to.

He had to.

Tonight had shown him something; life was too short to waste not enjoying it, to spend time away form his family. His insides turned cold as he remembered feverishly trying to save that young kid's life today, the blood had spilled out faster then he could replace it and finally no amount of medication or equipment would restart his heart. The boy's family as he told them their son hadn't made it. No life was too short to waste. _What if something happened to him? What would Jocelyn and Joanna remember him as? A father and husband who was always absent, who never had time for them?_

Dr. McCoy walked into the kitchen and looked around at the immaculate surfaces the Jocelyn was always cleaning, it was unnaturally quiet, Joanna's laughter couldn't be heard from any of the rooms, Jocelyn's classical music wasn't playing, it was too quiet. No, not quiet, he amended. He could hear the faint murmur of voices from one of the upstairs rooms like someone had left the TV on. They must be upstairs watching a movie together. Dr. McCoy made his way carefully up the stairs intending to surprise them, Joanna would come running up to him, and beg to be picked up her small arms twining around his neck, Jocelyn would be surprised to see him this early, but perhaps then she would see the effort he was making to change to be a better father, a better husband. He walked past the pictures that lined the stairway, and looked at the 4 rooms on the second door the soft murmur of voices could be heard from the Master Bedroom, Joanna's room on the other side of the hall was deserted so he was right, they were watching a movie together. Dr. McCoy smiled as he heard Jocelyn giggle, he hadn't heard her laugh like that in a long time; a deeper voice could be heard from within.

_What movie were they watching?_

Dr. McCoy walked towards the door and opened it a "surprise" dying unheard on his lips as he took in the scene laid out before him. Joanna was nowhere to be seen, instead Jocelyn was looking startled her face was flushed and bright, her body entwined with another man, as she saw him she quickly disentangled herself ,pulled a sheet up and clutched it tightly around her nude body. Even though he had only seen him a few times, Dr. McCoy recognized the man as Sikar a Vulcan that Jocelyn knew from work. The man's impassive face stared at him, unconcernedly. McCoy remembered what Jocelyn had said a few days early, _**Sikar is so much different than other Vulcans**_.

_He believed her now. _

McCoy stared out at the scene laid out before him unable to comprehend…. _unwilling to_. Now he thought back to the aftermath of that moment, how Jocelyn had demanded that they sell the house, how she had taken almost all the assets, how she had claimed that he had never shown her any affection and worst of all how she had given up parental rights to Joanna saying that she had never wanted a child. The last part was true he could remember their many discussions before Joanna was born, when she was finally conceived he thought that it was because he had convinced her that having a child was a good idea. Now he saw that he hadn't changed her mind at all. Her opposition to the idea had merely turned to poisonous resentment. She hadn't been content until she had left him with almost nothing, just his bones. He had spent night after night after she had left drinking and wondering how everything could have gone so wrong. He had finally taken Joanna to live with his sister's family; She would have a better life there, than he could give her. He had joined Starfleet to get as far away from Jocelyn and his past as possible, it hadn't worked. He looked down at the medical report clutched in his hand with Jocelyn listed as the head researcher and tried to forget the memories that the sight of her name had dredged up. He put the report down and then went to the cabinet he kept in his office in sickbay and poured himself a glass of Whiskey. He took a long swallow letting the harsh beverage scorch its way down his throat burning away the pain of his memories.


	3. Chekov

**Chekov**

_It was dark, cold. He shivered, causing a sharp jolt of pain to travel down his leg. Where was he? Why did he hurt so much? He opened his mouth to speak and stopped as he pain shot through his face traveling up from the line of his jaw, he tasted blood in his mouth. He groped out with a hand and his fingers brushed something, cold and soft. It felt like a hand, the fingers dangling limply. He faded back into darkness. He awoke, with a cough. It was hot, uncomfortably hot. He smelled smoke, the acrid smell making his eyes water. Where was he? He could see jagged piece of metal, plastic and fabric surrounding him; he was in an air skimmer. He looked around and saw the cause of the smoke, a fire burned to his left hungrily consuming fabric and plastic, and causing's gouts of smoke to fill the interior of the vehicle. He desperately searched for an opening, the thick smoke making it almost impossible to see. His lungs burned with the hot smoke, then he felt a gust of cold air move across his face momentarily and he realized that directly ahead of him was a window. The glass in it had been shattered leaving shards still clinging to the window frame. He tried to crawl to the window and was stopped as a sharp pain shot through his leg; he tried to move it and realized it was caught wedged between a seat and something else. He jerked trying to free his leg as the interior of the vehicle filled with more and more smoke. He reached back blindly his hands trying to free his leg, his hands pushed against something it was stiff, cold; he shuddered inwardly when he touched it. Then with one last jerk his leg was free, a cry tore free as pain unlike any he had felt before rippled through him, and his vision dimmed momentarily. He took a breath his ribs protesting sharply at the movement, and then crawled forward, slowly…painfully, towards the open window, and tumbled through glass shards cutting his face and arms, he landed face down in snow. He tried to stand and fell back as his leg refused to hold him, in the moonlight he could see that it was covered in blood, the cloth of his pants torn in places and sticking to his legs in others. He edged forwards away from the uncomfortable heat of the burning vehicle and as he crawled, tried to remember what had happened. It came back to him in brief flashes then, a flood._

_**His mother. She was in the air skimmer**__. _

_He staggered back to the air skimmer half crawling, half walking ignoring the agony in his leg. flames and smoke rose from the air skimmer, lighting the night. He knew now what he had brushed past when he was crawling out it was a person. He reached the air skimmer and could see a hand lying through a window on the drivers side, he grabbed her arm trying to pull her out, but she was wedged tightly her body pinned beneath the crushed metal of the air skimmer, he thought he felt her fingers grip his momentarily as he struggled to move her . He didn't know how long he spent trying to pull her out, the heat from the car growing more intense by the second, his eyes watering, the smoke causing him to choke. Then, arms encircled him, pulling him back; he fought them trying to get back to the air skimmer. The arms pulled him back, saying words he couldn't understand. When he was several feet away there was a roar, then the flames lept higher illuminating the night sky and the entire air skimmer was consumed ,Flames burned everything, a wordless scream came from him; he collapsed to his knees, somebody's hand restraining him from going back to the vehicle. He had no idea how long he kneeled there in the cold snow, watching as the vehicle burned, as the medics tried fruitlessly to get close enough to the flames to free the person trapped inside… as the harsh odor of burning flesh grew stronger by the second. _

_XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx_

Chekov awoke screaming. His roommate was standing over him, looking simultaneously worried and uncomfortable. A hand was on Chekov's shoulder, the ensign took his hand off Chekov's shoulder as the scream stopped, he nervously, ran a hand through his hair looking uncomfortable and said "You were-uh… having a nightmare or something, I just thought I'd wake you up".

When Chekov didn't say anything in reply, the ensign said "well… I'm... Uh.. going back to sleep." Chekov watched as the ensign silently padded over to his bed. Chekov turned away but he could still feel the ensign's eyes on him. He closed his eyes trying to block the rest of the dream/memory from coming. He was unsuccessful, the memories forcing there way upwards in his mind. His mouth filled with the bitter taste of bile, as image upon image was repeated. He quickly untangled himself from his sheets and just barely succeeded in making it to the bathroom before he was sick. Afterwards Chekov sat on the cold metal floor, remembering over and over the memories that haunted him.

_He had awakened in a hospital room; the beeping of monitors surrounded him, dimly he could hear voices out in the corridor outside his room. He listened and could just make out what they said._

"_Is he still asleep?"_

"_He was when I last checked"_

"_Good...For his sake I hope he sleeps a long time, I certainly don't want to be the one to tell him"_

"_Tell him what?"_

"_You didn't hear? ….He's that boy from the air skimmer accident, his mother, sister and brother were all killed, he's the only one that survived"_

_The rest of the conversation was unheard all that he heard over and over in his mind was: the only one that survived. He was alone._

Chekov sat there, his memories of that night playing them over and over again in his mind, the hard, cold metal floor biting into him painfully, he deserved the pain, he had failed and because of him they were all dead. He sat there till morning.

Alone.

Alone… except for his memories.


End file.
